


A Fear of Flying

by turnofthesentry



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mental Coercion, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/turnofthesentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob was a man who was anything but unfaithful -- which was why Norman had always been subtle with his seductions. He tugged at his personalities like spiderwebs, brushing past the man who was Robert Reynolds to whomever was lurking beneath. Illicit after-dark affairs bring him close to the Sentry even if Bob doesn't have a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fear of Flying

The rustle of sheets was one of the only noises at this time of night, sliding and brushing against bare skin and bit-back moans. The dark room rolled shadows down Norman Osborn's chest, illuminated only by the faint light cast by the man above him. He arched his back, fingers greedily pulling at the thick golden hair that he was claiming for himself.

Parting his thighs, Norman hid his eyes behind his palm, savoring the darkness. He kept Bob's name off his lips, not wanting to draw the dangers of that mind to the surface --leaving Bob in the dark about his secret infidelities. Norman wouldn't let his prize go, dangerous liaisons or not. He murmured orders against the Sentry's warm neck and tilted his head back when they were followed, heaving out an exhale, wetting his lips.

The sheets rustled and the mattress creaked with increasing frequency, in time with their breaths. Norman arched his back again, bringing his body closer. He allowed the Sentry's every fluid motion, each movement pure instinct rather than thought. Norman's fingers gripped strong hips, muscles and tendons flexing, and he whispered encouragement, smirking and cupping muscle.

Treasuring his reward. Norman Osborn deserved his power, and he didn't intend on letting it go.

 

"So hey, who here thinks Osborn's gay?" Bullseye asked one afternoon over lunch. ('Lunch' being a generous term when it came to Norman's Avengers; they didn't so much as eat together, as they just happened to be in the same room when they were hungry.) It was a light topic; poking fun at authority was a hobby of theirs. Especially one so self-important as Norman Osborn. That was an authority just waiting to be toppled.

Karla slipped her soft hair behind her shoulders, sipping at a glass of wine. Maybe it was 1 PM, but she was Ms. Marvel. She had earned the right to drink wine whenever she damn well pleased.

"He's definitely not _gay,_ " she said calmly, derision in her tone to suggest Bullseye was stupid for saying it. "But I would hazard a guess that he doesn't think he's anything other than completely _straight._ And the two don't necessarily go hand in hand."

"Oh, he definitely fucks men," Daken agreed, sipping his cup of chai. He felt their attention perk up at that, and savored the moment. "I can smell it on him."

Bullseye and Gargan leaned in, Gargan's twisted, knife-filled mouth pointed in a grin while Bullseye sneered in disgusted interest. There was something about gossip that always brought groups together, especially when it was gossip with the promise of possible blackmail. Daken, however, calmly took another sip of his tea.

"… Sorry, did you guys want to know _who_? Well. Maybe I'll tell you in exchange for a kiss."

"Oh fuck off," Bullseye growled, sitting back in his chair. "I don't need to know _that_ badly." Daken winked at him over his teacup.

While Gargan whined and Bullseye sulked, Karla brushed her lower lip thoughtfully with her thumbnail, reading into the subtext of the situation. She took most everything he said with a grain of salt, but along with seemingly only Daken, she'd noticed odd behavior in her boss as well. And she was an expert on behavior. She didn't care if Daken shared the information, but she was more interested in getting to the bottom of it.

And it really would be _just_ like Norman.

 

During the day while the rest of the team was out doing whatever it was they did, Melinda Reynolds was sitting in the bed that she shared with her husband, face pressed against the pillow. She curled there listlessly like she did every other day, wondering what had happened to her and Bob, wondering what had happened to their life. Whoever the man was that occasionally lay beside her at night wasn't her husband. She felt fear looking into his face, rarely recognizing Robert within his eyes.

There had been a time once when the Sentry and Bob were not quite such different people. Maybe even the same person. Lindy didn't know anymore and she didn't know if she ever would.

To Bob, their relationship was in an uneasy state of hazy stasis. They had had their marital problems before, but things had been different ever since Norman Osborn had taken charge of the Avengers and the new team had moved in. He could tell his wife was unhappy, but he didn't know why. He didn't know how to fix it. Wringing his cape between the fingers of once hand he worried, wondering why he _never_ could tell how to fix things back to what they used to be.

He thought, at first, that she missed their friends and the days when Spider-man, Reed and Sue Richards or Thor might be found in the Tower on any given day. But that would mean things would had only recently become a problem and he know _that_ wasn't right, either.

"Lindy?" The lights in their room were dimmed almost all the way, but he recognized the familiar shape in the bed where his wife spent her days. He sat on the bed, feeling Lindy shift in place as the mattress sank under his weight. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

He brushed her cheek lightly with his finger, stroking hair away from her neck. He loved her. He needed her, more than anything. But although he was almost scared to acknowledge it, Lindy no longer seemed to need him.

He felt her flinch from his touch when he tried to touch her shoulder, and inhale sharply. He repeated her name, hesitantly.

"Please," she said quietly, not turning around to look at him. Her cheeks and eyes were red, her chest rising and falling steadily with nervous breath. "Please, Bob, don't touch me."

The words stung; his heart felt heavy and sank down in his chest. His mind whispered frantic objections that didn't quite reach his lips: _Please Lindy, please, let me touch you Lindy I love you, I love you so much. I need you more than anything, you're the only one keeping me from--_

Pulling away, Bob slid to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair from his face. Lindy hazarded a glance over her shoulder, wondering briefly if she was too hasty. If her fears were crazy and she was just feeling alone and afraid. He stared at the floor, eyes shadowed, and Bob felt himself slide away and hide again in the recesses of his own mind.

The Sentry tucked Lindy back in gently and left the room.

 

"You're kidding me. No, _you're_ going to take care of it, my protection is hardly _unconditional._ If your men won't control themselves--"

"Norman."

Karla's calm, curt voice cut through Norman's transmission, and he immediately shot a glare in her direction, touching his fingers to his ear piece.

"If your men won't _control themselves_ , you and I are going to be having quite a different conversation about them a day from now. And don't you goddamn call me about it again."

He disconnected the call abruptly, turning on Karla. "What do you want?"

She smiled at him, eyes shining and red lips pressed tight. "I thought we could talk for a minute. In fact, I've been _concerned_ for you, Norman. You've been working so incredibly hard lately… I was wondering when the last time you visited home was."

" _Home_?" Norman's tone was incredulous, his eyes narrowed. Then he waved his hand, dismissive. "Karla, I don't have time for this. If you miss asking questions that much, perhaps you should consider a secondary hobby -- a _Dear Abby_ column online maybe."

"Temper, temper." Karla raised her eyebrow. "How _is_ Lily doing?"

Norman responded with a scoff and a sneer, turning away from her without another word. He stormed from the common room, down the long hallway to one of his offices. From where she was Karla could hear his distracted muttering, and her fingers touched her chin under her smirk.

"So interesting."

 

Bob was a man who was anything but unfaithful -- which was why Norman had always been subtle with his seductions. He tugged at his personalities like spiderwebs, brushing past the man who was Robert Reynolds to whomever was lurking beneath. Someone darker, someone brighter, something much more powerful, with vulnerabilities that gave underneath Norman's slim fingers the way Norman gave under Bob's.

Norman found him wandering the halls, aimless and distracted. His hair hung in his face, dark eyes peering out between the thick strands. His jaw was set, his eyes sharp, and he turned when he felt Norman's hand touch his shoulder.

"Everything all right, Bob?" He asked, lips pressed in what was almost a smile. It looked appropriately concerned, if not for the unfeeling gleam of his eyes. Bob didn't meet them immediately.

"Lindy's not feeling well. I was going to go check on the others and bring her some tea."

"What's your hurry? Lindy needs her rest. Come with me, Bob. We can talk. Do you remember what we talked about?"

"I--"

Norman's heels lifted slightly, bringing him up the inch to meet Bob's height.

"You have to remember to stay in control. Only _you_ can do the work. You have to do the things you want to," he touched Bob's cheek, "because they make you feel human. Because they make you feel _good_."

Bob closed his eyes, expecting Norman's lips before he felt them. Hands tangled themselves into his hair, and Bob rested his own against Norman's hip.

"You're right…"

 

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, the Sentry's fingers explored stretches of skin, his lips pressed against the slope of clavicle. He felt a knee against his chest, hands gripping his back, his hips, his ass. Fingers hooked and kneaded. He touched slender hips, muscled thighs, rocky spines, seeking a familiarity without knowing it. When his eyes slid open, cold and blue, his face was cupped with one hand, another directing his own hand south. Shadows hid Norman's face, except for his eyes and the malevolent hint of teeth.

In the back of his mind Bob thought about Lindy.

Norman led as he usually did, prompting the Sentry wordlessly with his body. He leaned further over him, brushing the hair from his face and claiming his lips again. When the Sentry clutched Norman by the hips and pushed him up, rolling Norman under him, he was met with little resistance -- Norman knew that part of what was helping Bob maintain stability was the illusion that he was in control of his situations. That was fine.

As his hips lay cupped in the Sentry's hands, Norman was spontaneously reminded of Karla earlier that day, ambushing him with questions. Almost as if she'd known something. Not that she _could_ , by any means -- but if it could become a problem then it already _was_ a problem, and his own paranoia wouldn't be able to let the matter rest. Norman's personal life, more so his personal _activities_ , was not something he wanted any of the Avengers privy to. They wouldn't understand. Worse than that--

The Sentry's fingers stroked attentively, snapping Norman's attention back with a sharp breath. His lips quirked into a strained and crooked sneer, and he parted them to allow Bob's fingers to invade his mouth. Norman nipped them ineffectually, biting and tweaking invulnerable flesh, before he lathered them affectionately with his tongue. Minutes later, wet fingers trailed down between Norman's legs. Norman leaned his head back against the pillow, hissing through clenched teeth. He rested his hands on Bob's shoulders.

 _Let's keep each other sane._

 

Karla cornered him again later that evening, her eyes flashing dangerously. Norman knew that look. He hated seeing it on anyone that was not himself. He had no patience for know-it-alls.

" _What,_ Karla? _What_?"

She leaned in close to him, fingers brushing his chest.

"Norman, I hope you realize that you're playing with fire," she purred, voice razor sharp. "Not even I would play inside _that_ broken mind, and it's my _job._ Do you have reasons, Norman, besides growing bored of Lily and wanting a newer, prettier fucktoy? Bob is much more attractive than her male form, I must s--"

Norman grabbed the collar of her costume, yanking her forward hard enough to take her by surprise.

"Don't play this game with me, Karla. I don't know what it is you're _thinking_ or what you _think_ you know, but I have plans that pertain to Bob -- separate from you -- and for that, I need his trust. I need his _unconditional_ trust. You wouldn't know the first thing about it, I'm sure, because I'll be honest -- I never put much stock in psychologists. And I never found you worthy of even mild acclaim."

That made her narrow her eyes, but Norman interrupted her before she could voice her objection.

"My advice to you is don't go making assumptions about me or my motives. Don't try to _analyze_ me or make lewd implications. I've given you a lot of freedom, I wouldn't like being proven that it was a mistake."

"Lindy knows," Karla said, her tone utterly deadpan. Norman's eyes widened a fraction, to her satisfaction. "And when Bob finds out that you're making him cheat on his beloved wife, you won't be alive to reap your rewards. How does that feel, Norman? Your time with your precious Sentry is coming to an end."

He let her go, eyes narrowed and hands clenching. He turned his back on her, stepping away aggressively.

"Oh, I know. I won't be _needing_ the _Sentry_ for much longer."

Although he knew from the start this wouldn't last forever, the moment was no less unpleasant. That's all they'd been -- a means to an end. If the end was coming, so be it. Someone else would be needed for the front-lines, and for that to happen Norman had to do something about Lindy.

He smirked in spite of himself.

 

Outside the tower, Bob hovered in the air, legs crossed in a seated position as the wind blew his cape and hair slowly. He was watching the sunset, vibrant yellows and oranges melting against the sky and leading the way into the blackness of night. There was an anxious clawing in his chest -- a feeling that something was wrong. Something would _soon_ go very wrong, completely independent of his control. A fear of death, or something like it. Maybe something even worse.

He closed his eyes, not waiting for night to come.


End file.
